But a knight always had the prerogative to show mercy, even when ordered to fight to the death. Davrin simply hadn't expected the opportunity to present or for Grayne to accept it.
Cimar rose and offered a hand, but Grayne knocked it away and said something that caused Cimar to shrug, sheath his dagger and sword, and turn away.
He hadn't gone more than a few steps when Grayne climbed to his feet, and even at a distance Davrin could see his eyes were glowing a terrible fiery red.
Davrin surged forward, gripping the railing of the royal box. "Cimar! Behind!"
Cimar didn't bother to turn around, just started running, putting as much space as he possibly could between him and Grayne. All the while, he discarded whatever bits and pieces of armor he could, including his sword belt.
Steam filled the arena as Grayne finished shifting. He stood at least nine measures tall, black fur a cut of shadow in the snow-drenched world around them, the tips like glowing embers. It was thick and heavy, sticking out in ragged spikes that looked more like weapons that fur. Snow turned to steam in a circle around him, and the ground hissed beneath his feet where it was scorched away. His nostrils billowed more steam, and the people nearest him in the arena seats grimaced and withdrew.
He roared, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the arena, making more than a few people recoil. Many simply got up and left, unwilling to stay for the death they'd cheered for now that it was going to be so grisly.
Across the field, close to the royal box, Cimar stood calmly, at least half his armor discarded now.
Grayne snorted and huffed, head jerking in a way that seemed to taunt and goad.
"I gave you a chance to surrender," Cimar said, voice ringing out across the field. "I gave you a chance to live."
Grayne just snorted derisively again and tensed, feet digging deep into the muddy ground around him—then he was off, shooting across the field, headed straight for Cimar.
Who stood calmly. The air shimmered and wavered around him, like sunlight coming off hot stone, and then he was shifting, clothes and the remaining pieces of armor ripping and breaking apart as he grew in size.
And grew. And grew.
Grayne drew up just short of reaching him, and with a snort drew back out of the way, not stupid enough to get swept up in the uncontrollable thrashing of a large shifter.
Davrin wasn't the only one left reeling, gasping, as Cimar finished.
He was a dragon. An enormous, dark silvery-blue dragon with swirling silver eyes and four thick, sharp black horns. He dominated the arena and made Grayne look like a child—or a toy.
Seeming to realize his mistake at last, Grayne turned to flee, but it was far too late. A single burst of motion, a long, smooth lunge, and Cimar had Grayne in his jaws. A hard crunch, and that was that. Cimar spit Grayne out then whipped around and bellowed at the royal box.
Tekker looked so ashen Davrin expected him to pass out.
King Rorlen, however, simply looked furious like usual. He surged to his feet, face red, body trembling with the force of his rage. "This is all your fault!" Before anyone could ask who exactly he was talking to, he punched Tekker in the face, sending him toppling to the ground. Surging forward again, Rorlen picked him up and dragged him into a position that Davrin recognized far too late.
"Father, no!" Korena screamed.
Too late. Rorlen snapped Tekker's neck and threw his body over the railing with far too much ease, then rounded on the rest of them. Nearby, the guards stood stupefied. Terrified.
Rage and madness filled Rorlen's eyes as he leveled them on Davrin. "It's all your fault, and you're going to pay. Right now. I won't tolerate this a second longer."
"Father, stop it! Just stop it!"
The words were of no avail, however, as Rorlen lunged at them, even as Cimar roared and Korena yelled for the guards to do their job.
In the small confines of the royal box, there was nowhere to go. Davrin could only brace himself and hope he lived.
CHAPTER TEN
Brilliant light burst in the royal box even as Cimar roared and lunged that way. It was bright enough he had to close his inner eyelids, which stripped much color from the world and made things somewhat blurry.
He could still see well enough though to realize he knew that light. That magic. He'd just never seen it at that scale before. Leonine.
Sure enough, as the light faded and Cimar could open his inner eyelids to see properly again, there was Lee, standing in front of Davrin with sword drawn and his left hand thrown out, sparks still dancing around his fingers in the aftermath of the spell.
King Rorlen, momentarily stupefied, returned to his murderous mission with a bellow of rage.
But Lee had gained Cimar all the time he needed to close the remaining distance, grab King Rorlen in his jaws, and spit him out onto the arena floor. He growled as Rorlen slowly climbed to his feet, stumbling about like a drunk. His eyes were filled with mad rage when he finally looked up.
"You're nothing!" Rorlen raged. "Nothing at all! You're a knight and your duty is to obey me! Stand down at once! You'll have your head removed for—" Rorlen broke off as blood flew from his lips right as a barrage of arrows pierced his chest.
Cimar roared and recoiled, summoning his magic to shift back to his human form. He dropped with a groan to the ground as it finished, and only barely heard people calling his name.
Barely a breath later, there were people everywhere in the arena: guards, officials, Princess Korena trying to regain order.
Cimar ignored it all, unable to focus on more than himself right then, exhausted and wrung out. He hadn't wanted the fight to go the way it had, but he wasn't surprised either. The stupid questions and comments hadn't even started yet, and he was already sick of them.
"Cimar!" Davrin dropped down beside him and immediately dropped his own cloak around Cimar's shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"Just tired."
"Lee is coming with your belongings. Come on, let's get out of the middle of all this. I do not envy whoever just sent a volley of arrows into His Majesty. The kingdom might thank him, but the law has other opinions."
Cimar laughed faintly. "Have fun helping your wife sort that mess out, Your Highness."
Davrin groaned. "Now is not the time to be mocking me for that, you knave. Oh, here's Lee."
"Sir Cimar!" Lee dropped a large satchel and set of saddlebags on the ground in front of them. "Are you all right? Any injuries?"
"Nothing of note. I think shifting took care of it all," Cimar replied. "Come on, let's get me on my feet and away from this mess, so I can get dressed without waving my cock at the entire royal guard and half the city."
"More like three fourths of the city," Davrin said, and waved off Lee before helping Cimar himself. "I think they're all still distracted by the abrupt murder of our king, so you and your dick are safe for now."
"Now who's the knave?" Cimar grumbled, yawning before he'd barely finished the words as they headed away from the arena and through a door to the chambers used by combatants for training, cleaning, and so forth.
They came to a halt in one of the changing rooms, and Cimar handed back Davrin's cloak as Lee opened the satchel and pulled out Cimar's clothes. In short order, he was in warm, dry clothes free of tears and bloodstains. Lee next pulled out armor—lightweight leather stuff, but all he should need for whatever came next, as his two biggest problems were now dead. Thank the gods for their mercy that nobody could ever accuse him of having killed the king. Grabbing him and throwing him around, yes, but he'd been very much alive and well before that arrow volley.